


In Which Prowl Fails to Express His Feelings

by Bettybot (Lizbettywrites)



Series: The Ways They Said "I Love You" [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizbettywrites/pseuds/Bettybot
Summary: His chevron is red, his optics are blue, he has no idea how to say "I love you."





	1. As we huddle together, the storm raging outside

They were so close, Primus slag it all. The suspect had disappeared into a notorius gambling den, and all Prowl and his partner had to do was retrieve evidence that he was meeting with a contact in violation of his parole. Of course, that was when the rain started.

Prowl twitched his cramped doorwing in irritation.

“Hey!” Tumbler yelped as the corner caught his chin. The overturned waste bin was a tight squeeze, but at least it was acid-proofed.

And Prowl didn’t really mind the close quarters that much, not that he would go so far as to say it. “Perhaps if you hadn’t crammed us in here so hurriedly,” he retorted, “we might have found a more comfortable form of shelter.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you looking forward to acid washing your paint job?” He could hear the annoyance in Tumbler’s voice even without seeing the grimace that was no doubt twisting his face beneath his mask.

No, he was not imagining what his partner’s lips looked like. Not today. He’d already exceeded his quota for the next three days.

Tumbler continued griping. “Why didn’t you tell me the chances of this, anyway? You’re always so hell-bent on following preparation procedures! The one time something happens, what, you decide that ‘sloppy’ is more your style?”

Well, that hurt. Prowl took pride in his careful planning. But, to be fair, he hadn’t exactly been as focused this time around as he was wont to be. An apology was likely in order, but how would he phrase it? I’m terribly sorry that speculation about your new detailing distracted me from the weather forecasts, Tumbler, but you must understand, I am fascinated by that striping on your chestplate… “I—”

The gambling den’s door slid open. The police mechs exchanged a look and took action as their suspect stepped into view, accompanied by his contact. They needed a cover before they were recognized as officers.

Prowl twisted around, hissing in pain as one doorwing was spattered with acid rain, and grabbed Tumbler by his helm fins, crushing his mouth to his partner’s faceplate. Tumbler took the cue and pulled him closer, using roaming hands as an excuse to hide the Enforcer sigil on his outward-facing wing. He retracted his mask, and the reasonable part of Prowl’s processor admired how the click and whoosh the action produced covered the sound of image captures being taken as Tumbler recorded their evidence. Reassured that their case was secure, Prowl threw himself into the kiss, all semblance of aloofness gone in the effort to both distract their audience and, to be frank with himself, to take the opportunity so suddenly bestowed upon him.

They finally separated once the door slid shut. Prowl’s fans whirled madly. He’d done it! He’d finally done it! After all the calculations and risk assessments, a single cover-up had provided the push he needed. This was it; now was the perfect time to say the things he wanted to say as he stared at Tumbler’s uncovered face, the face that he was so frustratingly enamoured with, the lips he had just tasted for the first of what would become, he was sure, many times, once he told Tumbler how he felt—the lips that were moving, Prowl realized, as his partner called in their report and evidence via commlink.

“Rain’s stopped,” Tumbler commented after hanging up. “The warrant’s on its way. Looks like this wasn’t such a bust after all.”

“Right,” Prowl echoed, cursing lost opportunity, “not such a bust after all.”


	2. Too quick, mumbled into your scarf

Tumbler wasn’t one to shy away from filework, but the load this case had left him was of a density that only Prowl could enjoy, and his desk-jockeying partner had fled as soon as he’d finished his half of the reports. Ugh. Report, review, sign, repeat. The cables of his hands ached. What was life beyond the misery of documentation? Would he ever see the sky again? Time lost meaning as he waded through the web of warrant dates and jurisdictional allowances. Nothing existed outside of his datapad. Reality was confined to the screen and the glyphs he typed out on automatic, the same information rephrased and reformatted for every higher-up involved.

The sound of the door opening made him nearly fall out of his chair. “Gah!”

Prowl approached him slowly, as though he might attack. A cube of energon was held out like a peace offering.

Tumbler accepted the cube and set his datapad down. “I thought you had abandoned me to death in quintuplicate.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” his partner scoffed.

“Here to help me out, then?”

“You know perfectly well I won’t always be able to do your filework for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, bright future in forensics, gotta finish mnemosurgery certification, make it to a prestigious position, blah, blah, blah.” He retracted his mask to show the teasing grin on his face before chugging his fuel.

“I’m just making sure you take care of yourself,” Prowl asserted. He mumbled something else as he turned to go.

“What was that?”

Black and white doorwings hiked up stiffly. “Make sure you’ve listed our precinct number on every page. The filing system requires it at the top.”

Tumbler groaned. “Just kill me already, would you?”

“Not a chance.” He heard the smile in Prowl’s voice, even though looking at his face would reveal nothing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tumbler.”


	3. As an apology

He’d made the right choice. Prowl knew that. But Tumbler just wasn’t reacting anywhere near as reasonably as Prowl would have hoped.

“It was _you_!” his partner had suddenly burst out. “You told Pax to leave me behind!”

“Of course I did. You have a bright future ahead of you; I wasn’t about to let some half-witted conspiracy theorist destroy everything you’ve been working toward.” Level head, calm demeanor. He was in the right, here, doing what was best for someone he cared about.

Tumbler’s visor flashed angrily. “I—I don’t believe this! After everything that’s happened, you still think this is some kind of hoax? Senator Shockwave was abducted! How dare you—”

Prowl’s composure evaporated. “How dare _I_? Look, Tumbler, it was the only thing I could do. I couldn’t just stand by while you put yourself at risk, not when I…” He trailed off abruptly. This wasn’t how he had wanted to confess.

“Not when you _what_?”

Tumbler gave no ground. Every inch of him crackled with rage. He glared at Prowl, clearly dismissing whatever was going to be said before he could say it. Had he always been this stubborn? How much longer would it take to repair this new rift _and_ get to the point where they could take it a step further?

Did he dare risk it, even if they ever reached that point?

Prowl swallowed his words and redirected the sentence. “Not when I have better things to do than be caught up in this farce.” His processor helpfully supplied a memory of the job offer left ignored in his inbox. “More constructive things.”


End file.
